


Mid Pleasures and Palaces

by pollybywater



Category: X-Files - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-05-05
Updated: 2003-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-19 06:50:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pollybywater/pseuds/pollybywater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over, and there's no place like home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mid Pleasures and Palaces

**Author's Note:**

> Probably best categorized as an AU PWP. Just a little warm fuzzy Walter/Alex smut. It's admitedly derivative work – intended not as plagiarism but as tribute, and you 'tributees' should know who you are. ;-D Various POV's, done in first person present tense, so be warned.

  
_Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,  
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home;  
A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,  
Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere.  
Home, home, sweet, sweet home!  
There's no place like home! there's no place like home!  
\---- J.H. Payne 1791-1852 ----_

  
I'd spent the last eight months -since Walter 'killed' me in the parking garage of the Hoover building- running around blowing up various and sundry Consortium facilities. Making sure the last remnants of their genetic testing sites and clone labs were dust. Playing go-between for the Rebel aliens and the human Resistance. Ensuring earth was as inhospitable for the Colonists as she could possibly be. Doing what I had to do, what I was born to do.

And finally, coming home, *home* at last, to the only place I ever feel safe enough to let down my guard when I sleep. I was fucking tired.

Which probably explains why I don't hear him come in.

Even so, I'm not really surprised when I open my eyes and see Mulder standing there with his Sig Sauer pointing directly at my head.

Damned thing looks as big as a cannon.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now, Krycek!"

I sigh. Nobody does hissing menace like Mulder. It's hard to take him seriously, though, given that I'm snug under a blanket with the smell of bacon, biscuits and coffee in the air.

"Okay. It would mess up Walter's nice leather sofa?" I offer, closing my eyes again. Hell, I think it's a good reason. Why should I bother trying to explain to him that he *can't* kill me, short of tossing my body into an incinerator, and I'm not too sure *that* would do it. Thanks to the rebel aliens and their meddling with my own genetic code, I'll probably outlive the cockroaches on this planet.

I have the satisfaction of knowing it *is* our planet. Humanity's, that is. Even if *I* can't claim to be one hundred percent human any more.

There have always been plenty of people who believe I'm inhuman anyway. Speaking of whom...

I peer out from underneath my eyelashes just long enough to see that Mulder is still standing in the same place, still holding that gun on me, still furious. Still pretty as ever. Some things never change, and thank God for that.

"Oh, Walt! Mulder's here!" I sing out in the best sugary tone I can manage, considering that my voice was permanently ruined during my incarceration in that damned silo. I've never been able to get the aliens to fix my vocal cords. They don't see the point, being primarily telepaths. I'm not going to complain, since they fixed my arm. I'm dying- pardon the figure of speech- to see the look on Mulder's face when he notices *that*, but it will have to wait. I'm lying on said arm, and I don't intend to move until Walt gets here. Getting shot is fucking painful, and Mulder's itchy enough without me giving him an excuse.

"Christ on a crutch," comes the muttered reply from the kitchen. I doubt Mulder hears him, but I have better than average hearing.

"Have a seat, Agent Mulder. I'll be out in a minute," Walt says loudly enough to hurt my ears. I watch Mulder jump, and bite back a smile when he lowers himself to the edge of a chair. Gotta give the man his props, though. His gun hand never wavers.

I hear Walt open the back door, again unsurprised when he welcomes Scully inside. Wonder how long they staked out our little house in the 'burbs before Mulder decided to break in?

"Are you all right, Sir?" Scully's dulcet tones waft across my hearing. I hate to hear her voice only because she comes along with it, but I really like listening to her talk.

"Just peachy, Agent Scully, considering the fact that two of my agents are skulking around my home at ten o'clock on a Sunday morning." Ah, there's the voice I love best. That gravelly, hard-ass AD Skinner growl. Now I know what day it is. Apparently, I was asleep for eleven hours. No wonder my bladder is about to explode. If Walter doesn't get in here soon I'll have to take my chances with Mulder's aim.

Damn it.

If I get blood on the carpet Walt will bitch for a week. On the other hand, piss on the couch won't win me any brownie points either.

Decisions, decisions.

I sigh again, thinking it sure would have been nice to just get up, go take a piss, then sleep for another eleven hours.

"What the fuck is your problem, Krycek?" Mulder asks in that murderous tone he likes to use right before he hits me. I think it's supposed to scare me. I resist the urge to smirk at him, barely, and don't answer.

"Sir, we got a tip that—"

"Bring that tray, Scully, and come with me," Walter interrupts her, and I open my eyes to watch him walk in. I'm not going to miss my eye candy. Walt is wearing my favorite clothes on him; a pair of short, threadbare black denim cut-offs unbuttoned at the top. *Very* short. *Very* threadbare.

And, umm, yeah, that's all.

I inspect him from his large bare feet and lean calves to those hard-muscled thighs, lingering on that spectacularly framed package. I swear I see it twitch while I look at it. Then there are those abs and that chest. God damn, I could write poetry about Walter's upper body. I sigh for the third time, realize I'm grinning like a loon, and finally meet his eyes. He's grinning back at me. Mulder and Scully look shell-shocked. I can't decide if that's due to Walt's appearance or the expressions on our faces.

"Good morning, Alexei," Walt murmurs, stepping in front of Mulder in a deceptively casual move to put the tray he's carrying on the coffee table. I don't know how hungry I am until I see food. Shit, he made me breakfast. He's sweet like that. 'Course, I offered a fine incentive.

"It's a good morning now, Walter Sergei," I answer, biting back a giggle. Silly me, I thought Mulder and Scully were freaked out enough without witnessing Alex Krycek giggling. Apparently, Walter doesn't agree. I guess as their boss he's got a better idea than I do of their capacity for shock.

Some days the devil taps on Walter's shoulder. It's one of the reasons we get along so well. He leans down and kisses me full on the mouth. He tastes like coffee and love and *Walter* and he's all I need. I mean, I can't help but survive, I've been bio-engineered that way, but Walter's what makes me want to *live*.

It takes me about a nanosecond to stop giving a flying fuck about breakfast, Mulder, Scully, my bladder, and everything else. I let out an embarrassing little moan that Walt practically inhales, then he pulls away from me and holds out his hand to help me sit up.

"Go wash up and put on some clothes, Alexei, then come eat before it gets cold," he orders gently, those beautiful chocolate eyes making all kinds of promises for later. I take his hand and lever myself up, pushing back the blanket he'd covered me with earlier. I stand, unashamed of the fact that I'm completely naked and very obviously reacting to Walt's presence.

At this rate it's going to take me fifteen minutes just to be *able* to take a piss.

"My gun's under the pillow," I whisper in his ear, gratified when he shivers.

"Think I'll need it?" He teases back, and I lean my head on his shoulder for just a minute.

"You never know with those two. God, it's so good to be home," I add before I force myself to straighten up and walk out. I don't miss the way Walt moves to keep himself between Mulder and me. Then again, Walt often comments on how much he likes to watch my ass, so he might just be killing two birds with one stone.

As I close the bedroom door behind me, I realize I'm still grinning.

***

I keep my back turned to Mulder and Scully, torn between outraged fury at their presumption and the undeniable pleasure of watching my Alexei's ass. The man is pure sex on the hoof, perfectly made, and seeing him in dressed in nothing is always a treat. Christ, the way that ass moves!

I would never tell him, but I could kiss those alien bastards for giving him back his arm. He's got to be the most beautiful human I've ever seen, and the thing that nobody knows but me is, he's just as beautiful on the inside. Yeah, he does that cold-blooded hardcase assassin role well, but that's not who he *is*, and behaving like that has never been as easy for him as he made it look. In another life, Alexei might have been his generation's Olivier.

Alex Krycek, contradiction. I loved him when he was acting the part of a green agent in an ill-fitting suit, I loved him when he was in deep cover as a Consortium spy, I loved him when he lost his arm, I loved him when he killed me, and I loved him when I killed him. I just plain love him. Now that the undeclared war for possession of our planet is over and Alex is finally free to be with me, I'll be damned if I'm going to waste any more of our time together.

Of course, I hadn't counted on having Mulder and Scully here to waste it for me, which pisses me off all over again.

I turn back around and give them both my best angry AD glare, and they stare at me like a couple of six-year-olds that just found out there's no Santa Claus. I don't know how long they would have stood there if I hadn't started talking.

"You can set the tray down now, Agent Scully. Perhaps you'd like to explain what lead you to invade our privacy this morning."

"*Our* privacy?" Mulder bursts out and finally holsters his damned gun, at which point I reach under Alex's pillow and retrieve his, placing it in the end-table drawer.

I have to wonder if Mulder has any idea how many times Alex could have whacked him over the years if that had been his intention. I shoot Dana Scully a raised eyebrow and she finally sets the coffee tray down next to the breakfast I had intended to share with my lover. Alone. Oh, well. Best laid plans aft gang awry, and all that.

Scully gives Mulder one of those patented 'shut-up-now' expressions and sits down in the other easy chair, and I take a place on the sofa that makes it clear I'll be sitting beside Alex when he comes back out.

"Sir, are you- I mean, you and *Krycek*? Is he blackmailing you?" She asks with laudable restraint.

I have to laugh. Yeah, Alex blackmailed me last night when he got home, in fact. He had my dick in his mouth and wouldn't let me come unless I promised to cook him breakfast this morning. We'd never even made it to the bedroom, which is why he'd been asleep on our sofa. I doubt that's what Scully wants to hear, though. She's already looking at me like I'd hit her in the face with a dead fish. Christ, you'd think she'd never seen me laughing.

"Of course not, Agent Scully. Alex doesn't do anything to me that I don't want him to do," I reply with my own version of the Krycek smirk. I can hear Alex laughing and I know he heard me. He really does have extraordinarily acute hearing, and mine's not bad either.

"But the nanocytes-" That was Scully.

"And you *killed* him-" That was Mulder.

"We both did what we had to, and it worked, didn't it?"

I pour both of my dumbstruck soon-to-be former agents a cup of coffee and allow myself a moment's wistful anticipation for the day when I'll no longer have to be Walter Skinner, Assistant Director, and can just be Walter Sergei, lover and husband of Alexei. My resignation is already signed, in my briefcase ready to place on the Director's desk tomorrow morning.

"What do you mean, it worked?" Mulder again.

Alex chooses this moment to come back in. He's obviously rushed through his clean up, and I know that has more to do with his empty stomach- as well as his need to be near me -than any wish to be around Mulder and Scully. His hair is slightly damp in front, face pink, eyes bright and glittering... prettier than any man has a fucking right to be, and all mine.

He's wearing nothing more than a pair of sweat pants that ride low on those narrow hips and cling to that bubble butt. I lick my lips before I remember we aren't alone. A goddamned tease, my Alexei. I have to laugh again when I catch Scully gaping at me, and Mulder's face as he stares at Alex is beyond description.

Stunned stupid comes close.

"Your arm-" Mulder gasps at Alex, who grins at him.

I just keep on laughing.

***

Walter is killing me, giggling like that, and it's plain that Scully thinks he's completely lost his mind. I know what he's so tickled about. Mulder is only now noticing my new arm, which means he must have been staring at something else when I left the room earlier.

Three guesses and the first two don't count. And, no, I'm not talking about *my* ass.

I plop down on the sofa beside my reason for living, surreptitiously pinching his ribs. He grabs my hand and holds it, rubbing his thumb over my palm in a covert move that goes straight to my groin. Walt's giddy mood is infectious, appealing to my reckless streak. I'm tempted to push him down on the sofa and taste that laughter, regardless of our audience. He must see the impulse in my eyes, because he reaches over and gets a piece of bacon off the breakfast tray and hand-feeds it to me, still snickering.

Scully clears her throat rather ostentatiously.

"Uh, Sir, what do you mean, 'it worked'?"

"And how the hell did you get your arm back, Krycek?"

"Just what I said, Dana, and the rebel aliens restored Alex's arm, Mulder. As a thank you for his efforts towards the resistance."

Walter is speaking to them, but he's looking at me, and the love and the pride he feels for me shows so clearly in that beautiful dark gaze that for a moment I can't swallow. He hands me a cup of coffee- he knows me so well –and once I have my mouth empty and my emotions under control I answer Scully myself and ignore Mulder. A man has to take his fun where he can get it. I have to admit, though, that I am no more interested in their reactions than Walt is. My attention is exclusively on him. I've been waiting for years to be able to openly feast my eyes on my Walter, and I'm not inclined to waste a second.

"He means, the war's over, the Consortium is finished, the Colonists have moved on to greener planets and we don't have to pretend any more that we weren't working together all along to accomplish just that."

I don't know what Walter sees in my face, but he actually blushes. He's such an unbelievable softie; something he's managed to hide from everybody but me. I never let myself forget what a privilege it is to be *with* him, to be the one who gets to see behind the tough, gruff exterior and into his big, gentle heart. He's my anchor and I'm his, and really, nothing else even matters. Judging from his behavior, it's obvious he feels the same way, and all I can do is soak up that loving care.

We stare at each other for the longest time, and I can vaguely hear Mulder yapping more questions that neither Walter nor I want to spare time to answer. Without taking his eyes off me, Walt interrupts that constant flow of noise with a single demand.

"Go home, agents. We'll talk about it tomorrow-"

"Or the day after," I say a bit breathlessly, my body responding as if Walt is touching me with his hands. My skin prickles as my own flush moves through me, and I'm very sure that the thin sweatpants I have on aren't camouflaging what Walter's eyes do to me. It's equally apparent that my Walter is similarly affected– those well-worn denim shorts can't begin to conceal what he feels. We reacted like this to each other the first time we met, and it didn't take long at all for the love to catch up with the lust.

"Or maybe even next week," Scully, of all people, adds wryly. It distracts Walt and I to the point where we have to look at her, and she is smiling at us. I mean, actually *smiling*.

I'm so surprised I have to smile back.

***

Mother of God.

They're so happy together. I've never seen Walter Skinner with that particular expression on his face. If I had to label it, I'd call it pure joy. Whatever it is reflects between the two of them as if it's painted on their foreheads, and I recognize what I am seeing.

They *love* each other.

And those smiles make two damn fine looking individuals... absolutely breathtaking.

I blink as my stomach dips and rolls, shocking me with a surge of envy. Not jealousy, but *envy*.

How often do you get to witness first hand the kind of unadulterated devotion I can see between my boss and the man we'd all believed to be no more than a lowlife Consortium thug? It's plainly visible, and I think about auras and Melissa and realize that in spite of past events, I can't begrudge them this... although I seriously doubt Mulder will be so generous.

I look at my partner and can almost feel sorry for him. Aside from learning there is apparently a longstanding relationship between Krycek and Skinner, Mulder has to find out that the invasion is no more; something that evidently happened without his direct input.

I wonder what upsets him most; that Skinner is with Krycek, that Krycek is with Skinner, or that the Consortium is finished. There's no denying Mulder is upset. I can see his hands fisting up, knuckles as bloodless as his face.

What else can I do? I grab him by one ear and drag him out the front door.

***

"Alone at last, Alexei," I murmur in the sexiest voice I can manage, which must be pretty damned effective, given the way his pupils dilate to fill his irises. I love seeing his eyes like that, only a tiny rim of green fire around the black, with his pretty mouth slightly open and the breath stuttering in his lungs. Every time I see him that way I want to climb up on the roof, howl and beat my chest. I made the mistake of admitting that to him once. He laughed for half an hour and called me Tarzan for a week afterwards, which finally stopped when I asked him if he wanted to be Jane or Cheetah.

"Whatevah shall we do all alone, Mistah Skinnah?" He teases in this awful Southern accent that still manages to send a shiver up my spine, all ten beautiful long fingers threading through the hair on my chest.

"That's Mister Skinner-Krycek to you, Mister Krycek-Skinner. And you *could* finish breakfast. I did slave over a hot stove for you."

"You're just too good to me," Alex replies seriously, thumbs brushing over my nipples and startling them to stiff attention. Just like the first time, just like *every* time, when Alex touches me I become a mass of pure sensation. If I were a weaker man, I wouldn't be able to tolerate it. He gives me this huge shit-eating grin, fully aware of what he's doing to me.

So naturally, I yank him onto my lap and plaster him to me, sliding my hands beneath those loose sweatpants and palming that excellent ass. Skin like silk, my Alexei. I never get tired of touching him, feeling the flex and flow of his muscles under that smooth, warm flesh.

Mouthwatering, really. Which reminds me.

"Don't you want to eat?" I have to ask. God knows when he'd eaten last. We sure didn't get around to it last night when he came home.

"Why, yes, thank you. I certainly do," he says politely, and in one of those nearly invisible indefensible black-ops moves has me flat on my back on the sofa and completely at his mercy.

I don't exactly fight. Even when he anoints my chest with his now-tepid coffee and laps it up. Or when he follows that by smearing strawberry jam on my belly, alternating little cat licks with bites of biscuit.

Homemade, I might add.

Not that I give a cold damn about the biscuits by the time he works my shorts off, those busy hands all over my butt and my balls. I'm a wreck long before he dips his fingers in his orange juice and starts drawing sticky patterns along the length of my cock, because I knew what's coming- namely, me.

Not that Alex would ever let me get off that fast. Even last night, when we were seeing each other for the first time in months, he teased and lingered and fondled until I was shouting threats. I know I agreed to cook breakfast but I don't know what else I agreed to. I have a feeling Alex will tell me when I least expect it.

Of course, I'm right.

"Walt? Do you remember what you said?" He asks just before he starts running his tongue over those orange juice trails. A few more licks and sucks and I won't remember how to speak at all, and he damned well knows that. Still, I make a profound effort to reply, stuffing his pillow behind my head so it's easier to watch what he's doing... which might have been a tactical mistake. Seeing Alex, face flushed, eyes glittering and his pretty mouth all red and wet and swollen, isn't exactly conducive to mental clarity.

"When?" I say, proud of myself for managing that much, especially when Alex catches me watching him. Those geisha fan eyelashes flutter and flirt, reminding me all over again how much I love this man. I smile- I *have* to smile. The expression on his face is a delightful mixture of lust and joy, with just a hint of wicked speculation. I have just enough time to think I should be worried, then he offers his fingers, tracing my lower lip in an obvious request.

I suck two of his fingers into my mouth and wet them thoroughly. They taste of orange juice and his own sweet flavor. I miss them the moment they're pulled away, but Alex doesn't hesitate, mouthing the head of my cock even while he's sneaking those fingers into my hole... and my god, it feels so good.

I groan out his name. Loudly. The sound of my voice goes right through him, I can feel it, see it in the shudder that wracks his body as he responds to my pleasure.

My Alexei. Beautiful.

***

I could come just from hearing Walter call my name like that, his voice like ground glass, desperate and needy. Add that to the sight of him, flushed and panting and pushing his ass onto my fingers, and it's almost too much.

Almost.

I drape one of Walt's fine, strong legs over the back of the sofa and happily spend the time it takes to make sure his hole is nice and loose- it's been awhile since we've fucked, and there's no more room in our lives for pain. At least, not the kind that comes from carelessness and lack of preparation. Jesus, he's a furnace inside, and I'm shaking with the urge to feel that heat clinging to my cock. I taste him again, the expanding flavor of Walter like honey on my tongue, thinking rather vaguely that there was something I meant to tell him, but I don't know now what it was. I'm too busy stroking my fingertips over his prostate, too busy calculating too much and not enough, because I don't want Walter to come yet. Not yet.

He reaches to pet my head, tangling his fingers in my hair. I love it when Walter does that, and it inspires me to swallow his cock. I even love the feeling of near-suffocation that gets me- my Walter's a big man all over- and he loves it when I deep throat him. It makes him impatient.

"God damn it, Alex! Fuck me!" He roars, yes, *roars* it at me, and damned if he doesn't have *me* trained to jump at that AD Skinner growl... but not as well as he thinks.

I reach over to the breakfast tray, where real butter sits softening in a pretty little ceramic dish, waiting for Walt's biscuits. A little shift in my position, and I can daub my farm fresh lube where it needs to go... then eat it right back out again, savoring Walter under the taste of sweet creamery butter. Walter's gone preverbal, grunting and moaning like he always does when I fuck his ass with my tongue. I love the way that little ring of muscle tightens in a vain effort to hold me, quivering in a silent plea for more. More is what I'm going to give him- what I have to give him. Right now.

Gritting my teeth, I shed my sweats then slick myself, making a mental promise to my overanxious cock that if it will just wait a little longer, then *next* time I'll let go all over Walter's gorgeous body. Once we've agreed to my terms, I started slowly easing into Walter's hole, silently reciting snippets of Dostoevsky in the original Russian just to keep from prematurely shooting as that slick heat encloses me so tightly.

"Walter. Feels so good," I say, same as I do every time, because it's always true.

"Alex, please," he says, same as he does every time, because he's asking me to forget slow and just *take* him.

And so I do.

***

God *yes* I think, and I don't know if I said it out loud or just whimpered. That first stroke fills me with the sweetest burn. I'm split apart and remade into a part of him, and good lord, wouldn't my agents laugh if they knew how fucking Alex makes me feel like some kind of poet. He buries himself balls deep in me, then holds himself so still; a combination of his need not to come too soon and his concern for my comfort, self-control tested in tiny shivers.

"Love you," I whisper, looking up into those magnificent eyes, seeing everything that he feels laid bare. Fully exposed. This is the Alex that only *I* get to see, the one who loves me more than his own life. I reach for his face and hold it in my hands, even while I'm wrapping my legs around him, needing him closer.

He leans in for a kiss, lips warm and plush against mine.

"Love *you*, Walter," he says against my mouth, sliding his silky tongue between my lips. I moan and suck his tongue, wordlessly telling him to fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. As if he hears me, his hips begin rocking to the rhythm in my mind, echoing the thrust of our tongues and the speeding beat of our hearts. My cock rubs against his belly, a pressure that teases me, and I can't resist pulling him to me with arms and legs.

"Walter, god!" He cries, bucking into me helplessly, the strangled sound of his voice every bit as arousing as the hot throb of his cock in my ass. He moves and changes the angle of his thrusts, slamming into my prostate and sending shock waves of pure sensation straight up my spine. I can come like this, with my erection untouched, but Alex isn't going to let that happen.

He shifts his weight and frees one hand, wrapping it around my dripping cock, ruthlessly determined to give me every possible pleasure... and I can't hold back. He shoves me over the edge and I shatter, distantly aware I am shouting as my balls empty in a powerful climax, spattering warm and wet. My ass clamps down on him hard, making him howl, and he shoots deep inside me, filling me, marking me. His expression when he comes sends another spasm through my body, like he's being tortured with bliss and it's too much to bear. It's the look I want to put on his face again and again, every day for the rest of our lives.

Alex collapses in my arms and I chuckle breathlessly, smoothing his hair out of his face and pressing a kiss to his sweaty forehead. When his panting slows to an even rate, he brings his wet hand to his mouth and tastes me, letting out a satisfied hum that sounds more like purring.

"So good," he finally says, stretching to lazily kiss my mouth, sharing the soda flavor of my own seed with me. It's one of the things Alex always does, and it sometimes seems to me that I know my own taste even better than I know his; like he finds it so appealing he has to spread the joy. This is a thought that makes me laugh outright. He doesn't ask me what's funny, he just gives me one of those irresistible smiles, and I know it's enough for him that I'm happy.

We're lying together, petting each other, when something occurs to me.

"Alexei, what were you talking about earlier, when you asked if I remembered what I said?"

He starts snickering, an absolutely evil little sound, before he moves up to whisper in my ear.

"Last night, just after you promised me breakfast, you said you'd fuck me in front of every agent in the Hoover if I'd let you come."

"Yeah? So?"

"So, I want you to quickly look to your left, two o'clock."

I do as he directs, focusing on the side yard window just in time to see two heads vanish, one brown and one red.

"That only leaves ten thousand four hundred and eighteen, if you count the agents in the field offices."

"Oh, Christ on a crutch!"

Like I said, if I were a weaker man, I wouldn't be able to tolerate it, but I have a feeling I'm going to be just fine.

The End  
5-24-03


End file.
